God Must Love the Autumn
By Edith Cherrington
God must love the Autumn, He clothes it so in glory!
The hills go robed in amethyst, the trees are dressed in gold.
High above the dreaming valleys the mountain peaks are hoary,
While the breeze that stirs the stiffened leaves is briskly clean and cold.
The little house that stands beside the lane is like a friend
Waiting for our coming at the twilight of the year.
The glowing hearth and table spread with simple foods extend
The living hand of friendliness, the hearty smile of cheer.
God must love the Autumn for he show’rs his favors there
And holds it as a mother holds her babe against her breast.
Soft breezes carry lullabies upon the fragrant air,
And the cradle of the winter offers earth her night of rest.